


Hallelujah

by Achilltatos



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, nice and inaccurate writings of Juliette amateur writer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achilltatos/pseuds/Achilltatos
Summary: “I think the almighty did good with casting you ou-”The empty bottle of port flew past Aziraphale’s face.A drabble based off of P!atd's Hallelujah.





	Hallelujah

_Oh!_

_A moment you'll never remember_

_And a night you'll never forget_

**_*****_ **

“You don’t get to find redemption after a fall.”

“Oh don’t I know it, Angel.”

The port found its way to Crowley’s hand, whether by miracle or in a movement that Aziraphale didn’t recall. Blasted booze, making him feel more human than he dared to imagine.

“Ah, apologies, i just have... things to lose, I suppose.”

Crowley had not finished his swig of port, which he had started a good ten seconds ago. A blessing, Aziraphale supposed, that he didn’t need oxygen. 

A good excuse not to talk.

The silence was tangible, Crowley was too distracted to miracle another record onto the player, and the quiet _glug glug glug_ did not make it any better.

Curiosity killed the cat, and Aziraphale was no killer.

_But satisfaction brought it back._

“So, how about that big fall then?”

Crowley had slithered his way to Aziraphale on the walls of Eden, the simple fact that he was a demon firmly engraved in his mind from that moment, and that was it. They didn’t talk about before that.

The glugs stopped.

“What about it?”

“Well, why?”

“Pissed the good ol’ mighty off.”

“Yeah but how?”

Crowley gave Aziraphale an incredulous look, seemingly insulted that he had even dared to ask.

“Why, want some pointers?”

“Are you having a laugh?”

A guffaw and Crowley firmly put the port down onto the small side table. Aziraphale caught the flying drop before it could hit the original drafts of Tolkien’s Silmarillion. A different type of bible but a bible all the same if you asked the right people. 

“Cared too much.”

“Ah no you didn’t. _You_ , caring too much?”

Aziraphale gave Crowley an incredulous look, Crowley only spread himself even further onto the seat he was in. No one had thought it possible.

“Yeah, caring too much, you think you were the only one willing to give away some blasted flaming sword?”

“But-but you don’t care! Look how you treat your plants! Your treatment to humans! You might be the most caring demon on this earth, but that says absolutely nothing!”

Crowley didn’t even respond to that, simply shrugged. “A’right.”

“What?”

“If I don’t care all that much, will you tell the almighty about their mistake?”

Crowley always found just the right way to cause an incredulous look back. Aziraphale cleared his throat, fixing his collar, which had most-likely not looked right for the past three hours. 

“I think the almighty did good with casting you ou-”

The empty bottle of port flew past Aziraphale’s face, it hit the shelves of mistranslated bibles. Most had gone untouched, but Aziraphale would make time eventually. Eternity would never be enough time to catch up with all the mistakes humans made.

It shattered just as the floors of the book shop started rumbling.

“Crowley, I must request you to-“

“SHUT UP!”

Crowley snarled it, both of his feet planted on the carpet as he stood. The scorch marks were already visible on the floor.

Truly livid then.

Aziraphale stood up from his seat, knowing all too well not to get too close.

“Crowley I-“

“LEAVE!”

“We’re in-“

“NO!”

“Crowley for heaven’s sake! We’re in MY bookstore!”

Crowley seemed like he was going to respond to that again, but then huffed from his nose, steam filling the book store and properly damaging at least five irreplaceable books in the art section of Aziraphale’s store. 

“Fine.”

Crowley stumbled out of the book store without wasting any of his leftover grace, and as he left, so did the local earthquake that he had brought with him.

Aziraphale looked stunned for a moment, still trying to decide whether it was worth following 

_No, it wasn’t._

_********* _

Life in London passed as always. Humans came in to find books Aziraphale didn’t have, Aziraphale shooed the ones that looked for books he _did_ have, and so on.

_and on and on and on…_

Look, here was the thing with the peculiar friendship of Aziraphale and Crowley. A conversation between them didn’t pass where they didn’t have a ‘kerfuffle’ as Aziraphale liked to call it. On top of that, the kerfuffle often wouldn’t take more than a few days. Now, in the digital era, that had been shortened to a solid hour. 

Crowley and him hadn’t been in touch for a solid month. Aziraphale was getting rather worried. Not for Crowley’s safety that is, the demon got by easily. Crowley wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.

No, Aziraphale was getting worried that whatever had been between them had been ruined by this simple misunderstanding. 

Thus, in the etiquette of this era, Aziraphale decided to call.

The usual one-tone sound followed by Crowley’s voice was replaced with a simple few quick beeps. No answer then.

Aziraphale’s bookstore opened at 5.55 PM and closed at 6 PM that day. He took the unfamiliar route to Crowley’s apartment. He usually didn’t go there. Then again, he also _usually_ knew better than to casually talk about Crowley’s history with the almighty.

Crowley came to him, that was how things were. Aziraphale was, however, missing his presence. He was especially missing whatever weekly updates Crowley gave to him about his almost criminally offensive abuse to plants. In a world where humans acted like Aziraphale would have wished they did, Crowley would have possibly been known as a plant bandit.

Aziraphale rang the doorbell of Crowley’s apartment, ignoring the shock that often scared off whatever human was attempting to reach Crowley.

There was a pause, and then, distorted due to a fairly old system, Crowley’s voice came through the brass speaker.

“Go away.”

“Crowley, I must talk to you. I thought time might cool you off, but I see I have made a grave mistake. Please allow me to redeem myself.”

“As you said yourself, there is no-.”

"Redemption after a fall, i know i said that, Crowley-"

“Go away, Aziraphale.”

The line went silent, Aziraphale scoffed, kicking a stone against the building, carefully showing his annoyance with this whole situation. This was all so, so…

 _Human_. They had never had a more human misunderstanding.

Aziraphale gathered himself and tried again. 

This time, there was no answer.

Aziraphale tried again, holding the button a little bit longer.

There was Crowley’s voice again.

“Go-“

“No!”

It was quiet for a moment, Aziraphale quickly used the opportunity to get his message through.

“It is because I might have never met you otherwise!”

More silence, Aziraphale was about to ring the bell again when he suddenly heard the loud buzz of the apartment’s entrance opening.

_********* _

Crowley’s apartment door was already opening, granting Aziraphale access to his study.

The demon was seated at his desk. Well, as much as you could call his way ‘sitting’. 

Crowley’s way of sitting was more like sprawling himself out over both chair and desk. How he kept himself balanced was a mystery greater than whatever had happened to the holy grail. 

“Well? Speak.”

“I am glad the almighty cast you out, because otherwise, I might never have met you on the walls of Eden, or in Rome, or at any other occurrence. You must know by now, demon, that when I state that I hold you in the highest regard, I am not lying.”

“Couldn’t have phrased that better then?”

“I am not done.”

Aziraphale furled and unfurled his fingers a few times, then continued. 

“I know better than anyone that angels aren’t the good that humans think we are. I know that demons are…”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips dramatically. 

“Alright, demons are demons. However, I think you are a good that comes closer to what non-believers consider good.”

Crowley sat up, taking off his sunglasses. Aziraphale was sure it was only for dramatic effect. They were indoors.

“I don’t need you to tell me how good I am, I don’t care about being _good_.”

It isn’t often that one finds themselves on the edge of a high cliff, having the opportunity to fall from either side, but no option to stay on that ledge. 

“You refuse to do what angels do, and-“

A snort from Crowley.

“you also refuse to do whatever demons do. You’re the lesser of two evils.”

“Watch your bloody mouth.”

Crowley was in front of him so fast that Aziraphale hadn’t even registered the movements. The scent of an extinguished candle wick filling his nostrils. 

Crowley’s next words were hissed, which was quite fitting.

“You don’t get to tell me what I care about and what I don’t care about.”

It suddenly hit Aziraphale that his last words hadn’t been the only thing that had hurt Crowley, it had been well before that.

“So you told me the truth.”

“Do I ever lie?”

“I am endlessly sorry, Crowley.”

Crowley’s shoulders lowered, his eyes not showing the same flame they had before. Whatever anger had singed his carpet was slowly dissipating. 

“I do not care about this.”

“Of course you don’t,” Aziraphale muttered, inching a little bit closer, not afraid to look Crowley in the eyes. 

his knuckles bumped against Crowley’s own. The action made him twitch his hand away, an unfortunate turn of events. 

“but I think that if you did, it would make more sense why I have grown quite fond of you.”

Somewhere in the apartment, music bloomed up into a rhapsody that made Aziraphale jump a little. 

There were quite different ways to fall. The common context of an angel’s way to fall had negative connotations. No redemption and an eternity of punishment. 

Maybe he had always been a fallen angel, just in a different way.

Crowley’s fingers wrapped around his, not as scathingly warm or as icy cold as Aziraphale had once imagined they’d feel. 

“Angel,” Barely a breath, but just enough.

It was a mystery who closed the distance between them first, but who really cared?

_Well, Crowley surely didn’t._

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I wrote this fic at midnight in a train on my way home. There are at least 7 inaccuracies in it (as my friend, possibly the biggest GO fan ever, has pointed out unknowingly), but it's still too good not to post. I hope you enjoyed it!  
> It means the world to me if you left a kudo and a nice comment <3.  
>   
> [Come scream about Good Omens with me here!](https://twitter.com/achilltatos?lang=en)


End file.
